Wild Fire Read Online Free Page A

Maybe Dad would forget about the whole thing.
    â€œCome on, Ry. Help me clean up this mess, and we’ll go inspect the cabins and the rest of the lodge.”
    He was as excited as she knew he’d be. “All right! My room first.”
    Dad retrieved his battered, brown fishing hat from the bench beside him and swung away from the table. “Ryan’s right. Why don’t you check out the lodge first? See what needs doing before tomorrow. Our bedrooms need to be cleaned and aired out. And don’t forget Anne’s.”
    Kara groaned. Her back hurt already. “What about the cabins? How soon do we need to have them done?”
    â€œNot for a while. Give me a chance to check them out before you go in, okay?”
    He glanced toward the gun rack and Kara understood. There’d been bear tracks down around the corral and barn. No telling what else the animals had gotten into.
    Ryan hustled off to the room he was sharing with his father. Kara whispered, “Be careful, Dad.”
    Her father’s eyes softened, and he pulled her over for a hug. “Don’t worry, Sugar Bear. I’ll be fine.”
    They cleaned the downstairs bedrooms first, then the one set aside for the cook Dad had hired. By dinnertime, Kara was so tired she was glad they had to settle for canned soup.
    Ryan fell asleep right after dinner, and Kara turned her attention to her own room. She pushed the bed against one wall, made it up with her own bedspread and the pillow she’d brought from home, then stacked her books, T-shirts, jeans, and shorts on the shelves.
    A wooden table under the window already held a flashlight, a lantern, and the room’s single lamp. She added her mother’s picture and stepped back to admire the results.
    â€œNot bad,” she sighed. “Not good either, but it’ll have to do.”
    There was one more thing in the suitcase. Kara lifted it out and hung it carefully on a nail just inside the bedroom door. Besides the picture of her mother, it was her most cherished possession: a charcoal sketch her great-grandfather, Irish Sheridan, had made of his Nez Perce wife.
    Wakara’s resemblance to her namesake was uncanny, and for the hundredth time she studied the young bride’s face: The broad forehead, high cheekbones, and small, straight nose were a reflection of her own.
    She was proud of her heritage and she liked her given name, but when she was younger, her friends had started calling her Kara, and the nickname stuck.
    From the drawing, you couldn’t tell about the first Wakara’s skin. Kara’s was just a little darker than Greg’s and Ryan’s, like she always had a summer tan .
    â€œYou are so lucky,” Tia had told her a million times. “You’ll never have to worry about makeup.”
    Kara was glad. She would rather be out at the barn or riding Lily than fooling with makeup. Tia was always looking for the right foundation to cover up her zits.
    The mirror Dad had given her for her birthday stood propped against the wall next to the window. Tomorrow she would hang it on the back of her bedroom door.
    She bent and peered into the glass. It was her eyes that really set her apart. They were a brilliant green-blue. “The color of a stormy sea,” her mother had said.
    Still, they were different, too different to suit Kara. To make matters worse, they would often darken to a muddy gray when she was upset or angry.
    â€œAh, the curse o’ the Irish,” Dad often teased. “You have your great-grandfather’s blood too, you know.”
    Kara stuck out her tongue at the mirror. Enough. Mom would say she was being vain. She grabbed a pair of cotton pajamas from the small wardrobe next to her bed, slid her feet into thick-soled thongs, and pulled on her jacket. June nights were still cold here in the mountains, and the shower shed was out behind the kitchen.
    As she passed the room her father shared with Ryan, she knocked